New York Bound
by emotional-static
Summary: After surviving the Titanic sinking, Tommy Ryan struggles to make a new life for himself in America and finds love in the process. 'If you find it, I'll be there waiting.' [Ch. 5 up, May 31]
1. Liberty

A/N: This has been in the works for over a year now. I was always interested in the character of Tommy Ryan and what would happen to him if he had survived the _Titanic._ After almost rewriting the story from what I originally had (i.e the very bare _Irish Rose_), this is what has come of it. I've done a lot of research, and I'm still writing this as I go along. Reviews would be great! Enjoy.

Disclaimer: All characters are property of James Cameron. Any others unrecognizable belong to me. No profit is being made from this, etc.

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**New York Bound**

_He didn't know how he had survived._

The bullet, albeit poorly aimed by Murdoch at the idiot of a man standing next to him, had grazed the side of his life jacket, and the shock of it all had knocked the wind out of him as he stumbled to the opposite side, out of harm's way. He felt a pang of remorse for the man who quickly succumbed to his death, and even for Murdoch, who had taken his own life soon after.

_But he had, barely._

The water had been so cold, colder even than the one time he had fell in the Shannon River in the middle of December when he had been a young boy. And when the ship finally sunk, he found himself desperately cling to memories, wishing he had listened to his mother in the first place.

"_I don't know what yer tryin' to prove, son, I'll love ya just the same if you stay."_

But he had been stubborn, always wanting the best for his mother, Angela, and his younger sister, Molly. America was full of opportunity, and he didn't want to be a dairy and potato farmer for the rest of his life. He had watched his father struggle, and in turn had witnessed how his family had struggled to make ends meet, and always vowed that by the time he was twenty, he would save up enough money to buy a steerage ticket and emigrate to America. Then, he would find a decent paying job and an apartment big enough for three, and when the time was right, he would send for his mother and sister.

Yet, he here was, twenty years old; the money in his pocket wet and the ship that was supposed to have taken him to America had left him stranded in the middle of the North Atlantic.

And after fighting tooth and nail to overturn the collapsible boat that was his last hope, he had managed to secure himself a spot, kept warm by a single flask of brandy that was passed around by the other men. For once, class did not divide them, as they all struggled to stay alive. He had tried to stay awake, as did the others, but he was so tired, and his body ached. _Would he struggle to make a living, as his trip already started out with a bad omen?_

He woke up briefly, some time after dawn, to someone shaking him awake. He managed to open one eye, and then the other. A White Star Line officer loomed above him, yet he sounded so far away that he had to strain himself to hear.

"What's your name, lad?"

"Ryan, sir. Tommy Ryan," he spoke gently, before drifting back to sleep.

_April 16th, dawn_

It was the beginning of a new day, with a promise of hope. The sun shone brightly in the early morning sky, casting a hint of warmth over the chill that had worked its way into the air. A few passengers were strolling along the decks, and even some survivors had made their way out of their makeshift quarters.

Tommy had been hesitant to greet the sea once again, but after a deep slumber that had lasted most of the afternoon and evening hours of the previous day, he had awoken early, unable to sleep any longer. He had been lucky enough to occupy the bottom bunk in the third class quarters, along with twenty or so other men in the small dormitory. It was small, and a tight fit, as the other third class survivors were packed in like sardines in the bowels of the ship, but he was thankful to have somewhere to rest his head, and more importantly, thankful to be alive.

The passengers and crew on the _Carpathia_ had been gracious and kind, volunteering their beds, belongings, clothing, and other personal affects for the _Titanic _survivors. A kind old gentleman in second class had offered Tommy two shirts and a pair of slacks, as well as a bar of soap and a blanket. He had even been well fed, as there seemed to be no shortage of tea, soup, and bread on the ship, or so it seemed.

He clutched the cup of steaming tea in his hands as he made his way up onto the main decks, after changing out of his waterlogged clothes. He had set them on this bed to dry, while he pocketed what little he had to his name, several Irish pounds and a washed out address. He was more concerned with the latter, as it was the address of his only known relative, his cousin, Pat Donovan. Before he had left Ireland, he had written to Pat, who in turn had offered him his apartment to stay at until he could get on his feet. Several years older than Tommy, Pat had emigrated to America nearly five years ago and now lived in a tenement with his wife and young daughter. The address was now hopeless, as the only word that could be made out was:

…_ony Street_

Sighing in frustration, he stuffed the paper back into his pocket and continued his way onto the decks, finally stopping near the back of the ship. By now, the decks were crowded with survivors, mostly steerage, like himself, and their mournful cries filled him with sorrow.

Clutching the rail with his left hand, he raised the cup to his lips with his right, savoring each drop. It was his first real meal in a day and a half, and he almost forgot about the roll he had in his other pocket. He pulled it out and began chewing little pieces of it, just as slowly.

He thought back to the previous night, of the terror that would haunt him for the rest of his life. Tommy thought of Jack, Rose, and Fabrizio, and wondered if somehow, they had survived. He had searched a little bit, once all the lifeboats had been collected, but had found nothing. _Perhaps,_ he thought, _they were looking for me as well._

He finished his roll and went back to drinking the tea, slightly disappointed when all that was left were the dregs. He had been lost in his thoughts for so long that he was oblivious to the young man who was leaning against the rail, staring out into the ocean.

It wasn't until he spoke that Tommy was broken out of his reverie by the man's thick Scottish accent, thicker than his own Irish one. "Aye, I hate sea travel. Makes me sick to my stomach every time. But, the promise of America and a new life was worth it, I suppose."

Tommy managed a nod. "Ain't that the truth."

"Me mum told me to stay put, but I didn't listen to her. I'm kicking myself in the arse for it now."

"Aye, my mum told me the same. Begged and pleaded with me. I always wanted better for my family, for myself."

"I hear ya on that." The man adjusted his hat over his red curls, the freckles in his face even more prominent against his pale skin. "William MacNab." He extended his hand.

Tommy held out his hand and shook MacNab's gently. "Tommy Ryan."

"Where are you from? Or should I say where are you headed?" he questioned, his face having regained some of its color.

"County Galway, Ireland. You?"

"Edinburgh meself. That's Scotland, not Ireland."

Tommy chuckled at this. "I know. I have a few relatives there, on my Pa's side. It's not too far."

"No, I suppose not. Couldn't wait to get away, and once I get off this ship you're going to have to get a good drink in me to get on another one to go home. _Titanic_…unsinkable, my arse."

"And when the ship docks, what will you do, boyo?" He was curious about this, wanting to see what a perfect stranger would do in the same situation he was in.

"Find a job and place to call home. Find a nice girl to settle down with. Have a family." William nodded to Tommy. "Well, it was nice meeting you. The sea and me don't really agree; never have, so I think I'll head back to lie down. Good luck."

"You too," Tommy acknowledged as the Scotsman headed for the stairs. If it was out of line to think of MacNab as strange, he didn't care, for the exhaustion was beginning to return. Yawning, he collected his cup and made his way through the sea of survivors, heading in the direction of the third class stairwells.

* * *

_April 18th, noon_

The past two days had gone by uneventfully, and Tommy had neither heard from William MacNab nor had managed to find Jack, Rose, or Fabrizio on the survivor list. He had even searched high and low in his spare time, only to turn up with no leads. Saddened, he had accepted that his friends had perished that night in the icy Atlantic waters, and now he was all alone to build his new life in America.

He spent most of his days either wandering the decks or resting in his bunk, and was discouraged when he had developed a hacking cough, along with a new bout of exhaustion almost overnight. A task as simple as climbing the stairs to the open air decks now nearly knocked the wind out of him and made his heart race. The previous night had been hell, as the tight feeling in his chest and his persistent cough had not only kept himself up but several others as well. By dawn, several other men were coughing along with him and complaining of similar symptoms.

After he had finished his tea and hard roll, Tommy made his way in the direction of the infirmary, knowing that the best thing he could do for himself was to get a doctor's advice and pray that it didn't develop into influenza. It had killed his father, and after surviving the _Titanic_ and making it this far, he vowed that he wouldn't let any disease get the best of him, either.

There was a short wait of men, women, and children, and once he gave his name and reason of his visit to the head nurse, he was whisked away to a small cot and a thermometer was shoved under his tongue.

She sighed and tucked a strand of her grey hair behind her ear. "The doctor will be with you shortly, son. The bedpan is to your right, if you feel that you are going to be ill."

He nodded in thanks and continued to hold the thermometer between his forefingers. Feigning exhaustion, he was just about to lie down on the cot when the doctor, a thin, middle aged balding man pulled back the curtain with a curt nod.

"Tommy Ryan?"

"Yes sir." He sat up and removed the thermometer from his mouth.

"I'm Doctor Reynolds. Let's have a look at that." He took the thermometer and brought it up to the light, inspecting it carefully. "I'd say a hundred-point-one. You made a good choice in coming here. What are you symptoms?

"It hit me all of a sudden, sir. I had a tightening in my chest and a cough last night. It takes the breath out of me."

Dr. Reynolds nodded. "Let's have a look at you then." He examined Tommy briefly and listened to his lungs and heart. "You've got a little bit of congestion in there, possibly even some fluid, son, and some wheezing. I'd like you to spend the rest of the day here in the infirmary. You have a nice case of bronchitis, and I don't want it to turn into pneumonia, like so many other passengers have. When we dock tonight, I'd like to send you straight to St. Vincent's, just as a precaution. They may have you spend a day or two there and send you on your way, but it's better to be safe then sorry. The staff there will be a lot more lenient then the immigration officers at Ellis Island, I'll have you know."

"All right," he agreed patiently. "I'd have to get my things."

"I can send one of the nurses. For now I want you to rest and regain your strength. I'll be by before we dock to check on your condition."

Thanking the doctor, Tommy quickly informed the nurse of where he had been staying on the ship and she promised to return within the hour with his belongings. She instructed him to get some rest and that she would be by to check on him when she returned.

He didn't hesitate to rest, and once his cheek grazed the cotton fabric of the pillow, he fell into a fitful slumber.

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	2. Recovery

A/N: Thank you all for the wonderful reviews! Hopefully you all are enjoying this, because I have a lot planned for this story, so if you get a chance, let me know what you think and review!

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_April 28, 1912_

As Tommy had feared all along, his bronchitis had worsened into pneumonia by the second day spent in the hospital. His drab, daily routine began to consist of twice daily examinations by a doctor and hourly visits by the staff nurses, who would bring him his meals (which he barely had the appetite to touch), administer his medicines and provide him with a sponge bath (usually by the surly head nurse, whom he constantly butted heads with). As much as he wanted to get out of his bed and walk around, the nurses forbade it unless they were to accompany him, and he hadn't much strength anyway.

However, almost a week and a half after being admitted, Tommy awoke early, feeling strangely peaceful. It was as if the weight that was resting on his chest had lifted, and he found himself able to take deep breaths and even had regained somewhat of his appetite. He rang for the head nurse, Anna, and she quickly rushed in a panic.

"Mr. Ryan, is everything alright? You never ring." She tucked a piece of her grey hair back into her bun and peered at him over the nose of her silver-rimmed glasses. "You've given me a fright."

Tommy almost wanted to chuckle at Anna's disposition, but decided not to chance it. "I'm sorry. I woke up this morning feeling a bit like me old self."

"That's good news to hear, Mr. Ryan, but couldn't it have waited until I made my rounds to your ward this morning? Here I am, thinking that something serious has happened to you," she reprimanded him. "I'll send for the doctor, but for now, let's take your temperature and I'll send up a tray of breakfast for you, or have you no appetite?"

"No, I have one," he mumbled through the thermometer.

After several minutes Anna removed the thermometer and glared at in the bright sunlight that filled the ward. "Ninety-eight even. Very good; an improvement from the past week. The doctor will be in shortly."

"Do you think I could move around and maybe take a walk o'er there?" He motioned to the hall outside of the ward and Anna paused for a moment, thinking his request over.

"We'll let the doctor make that decision when he is in to see you, but perhaps, yes, I don't see why not. He'll be in within the half hour."

As promised, the doctor arrived twenty minutes later, and after examining Tommy thoroughly and listening to his lungs, he determined that the worst of the pneumonia was over and agreed to allow him to take a ten minute walk in the halls of the hospital. Tommy was grateful for this, for nothing felt better to him that to stretch his weak legs after being confined to a bed for six days. After being helped out of bed by Anna, she watched him like a hawk after he took his first of several shaky steps past the beds that held other survivors; some of whom had not been as lucky as he. Many had died and some still battled their illnesses, and he said a silent prayer as he passed, his footsteps getting stronger as he progressed out of the room.

Satisfied with his newfound freedom, he made several laps around his floor; even being so brave as to take the lift down to the floor below him. He knew it was most likely off limits, but he had wanted to stretch his legs even more than pacing the same path in the hall. He walked through the children's ward and watched their angelic faces playing in the playroom, but once a nurse caught on to him, he was quickly shooed out and told to return to where he belonged.

Tommy arrived back upstairs and was greeted by Anna, a breakfast tray and his medicine. "I trust your walk was satisfying?" she questioned as she helped him back into bed.

"Yes, 'twas," he replied, taking a bite out of his toast. "I didn't know there were children here."

Anna nodded and eyed him suspiciously as she handed him his pills. "Yes, downstairs. This past week has been very sad for us. Many orphans from the _Titanic_ disaster have been brought in and many have not survived."

"What happens to the ones that do?"

"Well, most are sent to orphanages around the city with the hope of eventually being adopted, and others are relocated to live with their relatives," she answered simply. "It's quite a sad story. Couples today are usually looking to adopt babies, not children, so many remain in the orphanages until they can support themselves in the working world." She adjusted the pillow behind Tommy's head and sighed. "Perhaps I'll send for the immigration officer tomorrow to issue your papers, because with a little bit of luck, you just might be on your way by the first week of May. Is there anything else I can do for you before I head off on my rounds?"

He thought to himself for a moment, racking his brains for anything that could occupy his time. He came up with two things rather quickly, surprised at why he hadn't thought of them sooner. "I'd like to clean up a bit, give meself a good, clean shave and if it's not too much trouble for you, could you bring a piece 'o paper an' something to write with?"

She nodded briefly. "I think that could be arranged, as you weren't the thorn in my side as I suspected you to be. I'll draw you a bath down the hall and I'll have the paper and pencil to you as soon as it's filled."

"Thank you." He rested his head back against the pillow as Anna departed the room. Tommy knew now what he would have to do. He would write to his mother and sister, letting them both know that he was alive and well, as he wasn't sure that his name had made the survivor's list, which had surely reached Ireland by now. The last thing he needed was for his poor mother to mourn him, bedridden as she had been after his father had died years ago, nor his sister to have tears streaming out of her beautiful green eyes.

* * *

Anna returned shortly with the materials Tommy needed to write his letter, including an envelope with the proper postage. She promised that as soon as he finished writing it, she would have it sent to the post office and that within the week it would be on the next steamer to Ireland. 

"It's on the hospital, Mr. Ryan, I assure you that," she insisted. "Come, let's get you cleaned up and soon enough you'll be feeling like your old self again."

She had been right, and a warm bath had been just what he needed. The steaming water had soothed his aching muscles, and after a long soak, he dressed and took a long look at himself in the mirror. He hardly recognized the person staring back at him, for his face had gotten so gaunt and pale the bones were practically sticking out from underneath his week old stubble. He lightly ran his hand over his face and picked up the razor and bar of soap that had been left. He begun to shave with even strokes and was satisfied with the end result. His face was still thin, but it was an improvement from what had been there previously.

After summoning Anna to help him back to his room, he settled in for the afternoon and begun writing his reassuring letter to his worried family back home, regaling his tale on the doomed ocean liner and of his first two weeks in America.

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Review! 


	3. Freedom

Sorry for the wait. I've been so busy with college finals and I went on vacation this past week so this is the first chance I've had to update. Thanks for all the reviews, they were great!

I think I put a disclaimer up but just in case: None of this if for profit. Tommy Ryan belong to James Cameron, etc. I own Elisabeth, Anna, etc. Any names or places I've used are to the best of my knowledge fictional and created by me. If not, they're coincidental.

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_May 2nd, 1912_

By the first week of May, Tommy had been granted his release from the hospital. His doctor had decided to keep him until the end of the week in case of a relapse, and by Thursday night, he had gathered together what little belongings he had to take with him. The immigration and health officer, a stoutly man with a blonde handlebar mustache, had issued him his papers in the beginning of the week along with a clean bill of health, and Anna had mailed his letter to his mother and sister. After a minor two week setback, his new life was starting to look up, and he couldn't wait to explore and begin it.

While searching through his belongings, Tommy found the wrinkled address of his cousin's apartment, even more illegible and waterlogged as before. When Anna had brought him his supper tray, he had handed it to her, hoping she could try to make some sense out of it:

"…_ony St…et"_

She peered at it for several minutes, holding it up to the light and even enlisting one of the new nurses, Margaret's, help. "Honestly, Mr. Ryan, there are an infinite numbers of streets in the city that end with these last three letters. The only thing I can possibly make out here is Street," she replied.

Discouraged, he took the paper back from her and placed it in his shirt pocket. "I guess my plans 'ave gotten a little rearranged."

She began fluffing up the pillows behind his head and sighed. "The only thing I could think of you to do is to bring this to City Hall. There they have maps of every street in all five boroughs, although I'd start with Manhattan first. They have people there who are quite skilled at this sort of thing."

When Anna left, he began eating his soup and biscuit sullenly, pondering what he was to do now. He would rather find someplace to live along with a steady paying job and get somewhat accustomed to the city before searching high and low for a cousin that might not even be living in the same place as he had been years ago.

His thoughts were broken by a loud shriek and the clatter of a metal tray against the linoleum floor, and suddenly, a young boy no older than six darted into his ward and ducked behind a privacy screen.

"_WHERE IS HE?"_

Tommy recognized the voice as Anna's—an irate, shrieking Anna at that. He glanced over at the screen and watched as the boy stretched out on his stomach and rested his head in his hands, an impish grin on his face.

"_Miss Johnson, if you cannot control these children…"_

"_I'm so sorry, Anna, please, we were short on volunteers today and…you know how George gets."_

"_Yes, unfortunately, I know very well, as he's pulled these stunts at least three times this week alone!"_

The boy, George, ducked out from under the curtain as the voices grew closer and pranced over to Tommy's bed, now noticing that he was the only person awake in the entire ward.

"You won't tell on me, will ya Mister?"

Tommy grinned at George and shrugged his shoulders. "Can't say. What did'ya do?"

"I poured a bucket of ice water on that mean old Anna. She always makes me take cod liver oil when I have a cold." He sat down at the end of Tommy's bed and smiled a toothless smile. "What'cha here for?"

Tommy pondered with the truth for a moment, but decided to keep it simple for the young boy. "I was in an accident, but I'm all better now."

"_George!"_

George ducked behind the side of Tommy's bed and began to crawl slowly across the linoleum, until he was partially hidden again behind the privacy curtain.

"_I'm warning you, Miss Johnson, I'm on my last nerve with that boy. I'm giving you until I clean myself up and so help me, if he is not found, I'll summon the police and have them haul him off to an orphanage in New Jersey!"_

Tommy heard the clatter of heals against the linoleum and stop, pushing the heavy wooden door to the ward open. A young woman appeared, her pale cheeks flushed and her breathing visibly ragged. Her eyes darted around the beds, many of whom were no longer occupied. She paused and rested a hand on the top of her head, pushing back several of her chocolate waves that had gone askew. The other hand rested lightly on the middle of her rose colored empire waisted dress.

She finally noticed Tommy awake near the end of the ward and rushed forward. "Excuse me, sir!" she practically shouted in exasperation. "Has a little boy by the name of George come, or rather, run through here? He's about this tall," she motioned with her hands, "With brown hair and no front teeth."

Tommy knew the boy wouldn't be able to keep up his hiding game for much longer. He also knew that from across the room, George could not be seen, but if the young woman drew any closer, he'd be in plain view.

"I'm sorry, miss, I just woke up meself and haven't heard anything," he lied. From his position on the bed, he could see George's gleeful face from underneath the curtain.

"Are you sure? I just have to find him. It's on my head if he's gone missing." She sighed and walked forward and began inspecting the room. "George Martin, so help me if you don't show yourself this instant I'll take away all your privileges for the new two weeks, and yes, that does include going outside!"

It seemed that threat alone was enough for poor George. "All right, all right, _Elisabeth_," he grumbled, emphasizing the last part of her name. He wiggled out of his hiding spot and dusted himself off before shoving his hands in the pockets of his trousers. "Thanks a lot for keeping my secret, Mister," he winked at Tommy before glaring again at Elisabeth.

Elisabeth's eyes grew wide at that last revelation. "That's Miss Johnson to you, George," she reminded him, taking him by the arm. "And please sir, might I have your name, for being so _helpful_."

Tommy winced, glad that an entire bed length was between them. "Tommy Ryan, miss. And I'm sorry, for not being as helpful…"

"Well, Tommy Ryan," she interrupted and tucked a strand of her blonde hair behind her ear. "Thank you for all your assistance and encouraging a mischievous boy in his lewd habits," she calmly reprimanded before turning on her heel. "Good day to you."

Uncomfortable with his actions, he threw back the covers and reached for his hospital robe. Taking the first of several shaky steps once he pulled it on, Tommy dashed after her as best he could. He ignored the dull pain in his chest and threw open the door.

"Please, Miss Johnson—" But it was too late, as she had already entered the lifts with George.

"Crisis averted, Mr. Ryan. No need to work yourself up into a relapse the day before you're set to leave us."

Tommy turned his head and found himself face to face with a calmer Anna, who had changed into a navy uniform. She extended her arm and gently guided him back to bed.

"I'm surprised that was your first run in with George, or any of our more mischievous orphans here," she continued. "He's a terror, that one, but I suppose any child at that age is."

"I think I offended her," he replied, allowing Anna to prop up the pillow behind his head.

"No harm done. Miss Johnson isn't the type to allow her feathers to stay ruffled long. It surprises me that she actually wants to work with our orphans, when she obviously doesn't need to."

Confused, Tommy coughed suddenly. "What d'you mean?"

Anna shook her head and began collecting various items out of the medicine cabinet in the ward. "Now I'm not the type to gossip, but most of our young Red Cross volunteers are the daughters of more privileged members of our society. Doctors, lawyers, politicians, a rare tycoon every now and then. Looking for an escape into the real world from an otherwise stuffy family life. We welcome their help, of course, but it still strikes me as odd." She set the several bottles and bandages on her silver tray and hoisted it against her head. "Rest now, Mr. Ryan. You'll be out of here tomorrow, and you'll need your strength."

Tommy rested his head back against his pillow, finding himself growing tired after all the commotion in the ward. Still, he felt terrible for lying about that damn boy and making a fool out of himself in front of that young woman.

He felt his eyes grow heavy, and he shut them, reluctantly, the terrors of _Titanic_ and memories of Jack, Rose, and Fabrizio filling the space between sleep and wake. Somehow, the image of the young woman managed to fight its way into his memory, and his last waking thought revolved around her.

_In her anger, she had been beautiful._

_

* * *

_

The May sunshine awoke Tommy early the next morning, and as he pulled on his hospital robe, he realized that today he would be on his own for the first time in his twenty years of life. Everyday tasks that he had been used to sharing with his mother and sister back in Ireland were now left in his own hands, and he would now have to find a place to live, work, and provide himself with food to eat. It would be a drastic change, and having been in the hospital for nearly three weeks had put a wrench in his plans.

His shirt, trousers and underclothes he had worn on the _Titanic_ had been damaged beyond repair from the salt water, and what had been spare clothes had been lost in the sinking in his cabin. The Red Cross had donated some clothing and other necessities to the hospital, and Anna had been sure to collect a few items and set them aside for when he was ready to leave.

She brought in his breakfast tray around eight; scrambled eggs, sausage, and two pieces of toast, along with a cup of coffee. Tommy had grown accustomed to the usual breakfast of oatmeal, or simply toast, and was surprised to have something different-and American.

Anna sat down on the edge of his bed and smoothed out the bed covers. "I figured you had a busy day ahead of you and could use your strength. Have you any idea of what you're going to do?"

"Find work, and a place to live. Find my cousin, God willing," he replied thickly through a mouthful of eggs, his accent ever present. "Thank you for this, Anna. You've been wonderful."

"It's all in a day's work." She pulled a folded piece of paper out of her apron and handed it to him. "That's a list of several places that are hiring. I'd try the factories first and then head on down to the docks. The fisherman are always looking for a few strong men to haul in and clean the day's catch."

He smiled back in appreciation. "How can I thank you?"

She patted his leg and tucked a strand of silver hair behind her ear. "Make a good living, that's all I ask."

* * *

The afternoon sun beat warmly on the back of Tommy's thin cotton shirt, and for once, he welcomed the sweat that had accumulated underneath. He was thankful to be alive and well once again, and was now on his own. He had nothing but several American dollars in his pocket, as Anna had one of the orderlies change his Irish currency over when he had been ill. The ruined address of his cousin's tenement lay on top of the money, illegible and worthless.

Fear washed over him as he crossed the next street. He had been to several factories on Anna's list in a matter of two hours, and each had rejected him and several other groups of men, claiming that they were unable to pay anymore hired help. The last factory, _Nell's_was his last hope before heading over to the docks.

He strode across the street and entered the dim lobby, where a short line of men and women had formed. Several display cases showcased what Nell's was famous for—carriage parts and wheels. The line moved quickly, and Tommy found himself next.

The overseer, Mr. Quinn, his name displayed on a gold tag above his jacket pocket, nodded at him briefly while puffing on a cigar. "Mr. Quinn, Nell Carriage Works. Your name?"

"Tommy Ryan, sir."

"And why are you interested in working for us?" Mr. Quinn's voice held a monotonous tone, as if he had grown tired of asking the same questions long ago. He jotted down Tommy's name on the clipboard he was holding.

Tommy continued without hesitation. "I'm hard working and catch on to any task quickly."

"And you have a clean bill of health?"

He thought about his previous hospitalization and nodded. Anna and the doctors said he had been healthy enough, and he saw no reason why he wouldn't have been fit for this job. "Yes, sir."

"All right, Mr. Ryan. You just need to sign this form. You'll be working in the factories, and you'll be paid each Friday your wages for the week of nine dollars and fifteen cents. If you're late, you get docked a day's pay, and if you miss work more than two times, you'll be let go. Break time is a half hour, from twelve to twelve thirty each day. I don't tolerate any disrespect or games in my factory. Understood?"

"Yes, sir." Tommy nodded and signed the form quickly.

"You'll report here Monday, seven o'clock in the morning. You'll be allowed to leave for the day at four in the afternoon. Any questions?"

"No, sir. Thank you. Thank you very much!"

"See you on Monday, Mr. Ryan. Next!"

Tommy quickly stepped out of the line, pausing near the entry doors. He had taken the first step in making a new life for himself. _He had a real job, with better wages than he had ever made in Ireland. _Proudly, he began walking in the other direction with a new goal for himself: finding a place to live.

* * *

By now the sun had begun to set in the sky, and a cool breeze had replaced the sun's hot rays. Tommy lifted his hand and pushed his brown curls off of his sweat slicked forehead with a sigh. He was growing tired, and had felt the dull pain in his chest start to return. He wanted to find someplace to live, and fast, before dark.

Before him loomed several decrepit wood buildings, full of a bustle that only a city was famous for. Briefly, it reminded him of Dublin, but the sights, sounds, and even the smells were different. Sighing, he trudged on, thunder rumbling in the distance.

He eyed the first building suspiciously and only continued inside when he noticed the "Room to Let" sign displayed in the dirty window. He entered into the makeshift lobby and shuffled around for a few minutes, looking for a sign of life. The place seemed to be deserted, and somewhere in the floors above a baby's cry could be heard.

"Can I help you?"

Tommy turned around, startled, and removed his hands from his pockets. The woman's accent was so thick he could barely make out what she had said to him, and leaned closer to her. She was a short woman, round and had a rosy face underneath a head full of red hair, streaked with grey. She balanced a little girl on her hip, its face dirty and clothing torn. He recognized her Irish accent, as it was the same as his, yet much deeper. He knew that Gaelic had to be her first language, judging from her poor English.

He smiled at her and pointed to the sign in the window. "I'm looking for a room to live in, or an apartment."

She laughed, a deep laugh that caused her shoulders and the child in her arms to shake. "An apartment? Oh, boyo, you must be dreaming. I've a room, but you'll find no apartment around here. No room. Should have stayed in Ireland, I should have, because look where America's gotten me?" She spun around and pointed to the dirty room. "I can show you a room, but I can't guarantee you'll like it."

"All right."

She pulled a brass key ring out of her apron pocket and set the child down on the floor, taking it by the hand. It started up at Tommy in wonder and buried its face in the woman's side. "Right this way, third floor."

As they climbed the beaten stairs to the third floor, with every creak, he wondered if the staircase was going to give way under their weight. He was relieved when they reached the top of the stairs and she led him down the hall.

"I'm Mrs. O'Dowd, by the way." Again, her words had strung together, clouded by her thick accent. "And this here is my granddaughter, Melly."

"It's nice to meet you. I'm Tommy Ryan." He watched her as she struggled to open the first door on the left of the staircase. It creaked open, slowly but surely, and they entered carefully.

"This is it. Wouldn't call it much, but you can make do with it."

He eyed the small room, much smaller then his own room had been at home. To the left of the door was a wooden dresser, on top of which was a basin and pitcher. On the opposite side was a desk and chair. A small icebox was to the right of the desk, followed by a wooden stove. Across the room and underneath the single window was a bed, worn from age, a patchwork quilt on top. It was small, but it would do, that is, if he could afford it.

"How much?"

"Three dollars a month." She saw the hesitation in his eyes and shook her head. "You won't find a better deal."

"I don't have the energy to look for a better deal," he added, fighting back a yawn. "I'll take it."

"I'll need this month's payment by the end of the week."

He nodded. "Can I pay you now?"

Mrs. O' Dowd's eyes lit up, as if she had never heard of such a thing. "Of-of course," she stuttered. "I'm used to getting so many late payments that… of course." Tommy handed her the three American dollars and folded the remaining two back in his pocket. She smiled and picked up her granddaughter once again.

"A few things you should know. The water closet is down the hall. Electricity is shut off at nine every night, so you might want to have some candles handy. I don't tolerate any loud noise or drunkenness. I don't ask for trouble, and trouble doesn't need to be brought to my building. I collect the rent every third week of the month for that month. If you can't pay by the next month, you're out on the streets."

Tommy nodded, eyeing the bed in the corner. _It would feel so good to sleep right now._

Mrs. O'Dowd followed his eyes and removed a key from the key ring. "Your key. Don't lose it. I only have one set of spares, and they're mine."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. Good night, Mr. Ryan." She nodded at him and shut the door heavily behind her.

Immediately, he made his way over to the bed, kicking off his shoes. The room was stifling, and he reached above his head and pried the window open. It gave way with a squeak, and immediately, a cool breeze began to filter through the room. Raindrops could be heard hitting the metal eaves above and he glanced out, eyeing the black sky.

He was interrupted by the familiar rumbling of his stomach and realized he hadn't eaten all day, but he was too tired now to venture out to find something to eat. Tomorrow, he would shop for food and other things he would need. Tomorrow, he'd write again to his mother and sister with his new address, but tonight, he was exhausted, and the dull pain in his chest from the pneumonia hadn't gone away all day.

Tommy pulled back the covers, leaving the quilt folded neatly at the foot of the bed. He unbuttoned and pulled his shirt off over his muscular body and lay down. In moments, he was asleep, dreaming not of _Titanic_ this time, but of Ireland.

* * *

Review! 


	4. A Good Deed Done

A/N: All the reviews have been great so far! I'm glad you are all enjoying this. Hopefully now that my college semester is heading towards the end I'll be able to update more than I have been.

* * *

_May 18th, 1912_

It had been two weeks since Tommy had been released from the hospital, and in that time he had thrown himself into work, trying to prove that he was willing and able to do his job. The hours were long and painstaking, often spent assembling different parts of a carriage, but he didn't mind, for the paycheck at the end of the week was more than enough of a reward.

It was Friday, and he pocketed his wages with a sigh of relief. He now had the weekend to relax and explore the city in search of his cousin. He had barely gotten out of the door of the factory when a riot broke out right in front of his eyes, halfway down and in the middle of the street.

He rushed forward with the crowd, amazed at what he was seeing. There had been rumors of gang fights for the past week or so, and Tommy had seen his fair share of brawls in Dublin, but nothing like this. What had started with five or so men on each side had turned into fifty, with no police in sight. He pushed forward, trying to break free of the crowds that had gathered to watch, but it was no use. He stopped against the curb in front of the old orphanage and shoved his hands in his pockets, watching with everyone else.

It happened so fast that Tommy barely had time to think before he acted. A horse had broken free from its carriage in the chaos, and suddenly, the crowd surged forward. A young woman several feet away from him was knocked forward into the horse's path, just as the horse reared up on its hind legs.

Instantly he dove for her and grabbed her roughly by the waist, pulling her out of the dirt and to safety. The horse's hooves landed seconds later where her head had been, and in a panic, the young woman clung to Tommy's arm in fear.

"Are ya all'right?" he questioned her as he gripped her small hands and helped her to her feet.

Still shaken, the young woman nodded, holding her head in her hands. "Yes…I think so." She glanced up at Tommy, her brown eyes wide with shock. "Thank you, thank you so much." She glanced down at her torn gloves and hat and laughed. "Nothing that can't be fixed, anyway. Pardon me for saying this, but you look so familiar. Have I seen you somewhere before?"

Tommy glanced up at her for what seemed like the first time since he had helped her and realized that she was right. It was the same woman who had come into his hospital ward that day, searching for the lost orphan. _Elisabeth._

"Tommy Ryan," he introduced himself, taking her gloved hand. "I was in the hospital a few weeks ago an'—"

"Oh!" she dropped his hand and tucked a strand of brown hair that had fallen out of her updo behind her ear. "I knew I had seen you before! George was hiding in your room, and then I yelled at you for hiding him, oh dear, I'm terribly sorry about all of that." She blushed and turned her hat over several times in her hands. "I should never have spoken to you that way and I do apologize."

Tommy shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged. "No harm done. I should never have agreed to keep his secret anyway," he grinned at her.

"George is a handful, really. Thankfully, a family adopted him last week. I hope they realize that they can't bring him back," she laughed. "Elisabeth Johnson." She pointed to herself with another laugh.

"I'm sorry for what happened between us that day," he apologized.

"Please, Mr. Ryan, you have no need to apologize, I do," Elisabeth continued. "Really, I never should have spoken to a patient that way. Let's put it behind us."

Tommy nodded. "Are ya sure you're all right?"

She nodded and placed her hat back on her head. "Yes. If anything, probably just a few bruises that will heal in a few days. I can't thank you enough for being in the right place at the right time. If you hadn't saved me, I don't even want to think what would have happened."

"You're welcome. I just reacted, didn't even think about meself." He eyed what was left of the crowds, as the brawl had been broken up by the police several minutes ago. "Can I walk you anywhere?"

"Just the orphanage, thank you." She pointed to a stone building across the street. They avoided the chaos as Elisabeth held out her arm for Tommy to take. "And are you feeling better?"

He swallowed and tried to conjure up a simple answer, yet he froze. He was not ready to talk about _Titanic_ or the loss of his friends. Instead, he just nodded. He knew that none of those questions had to come up if he wasn't ready for them to. "Yes."

She glanced up at him, her brown eyes sparkling in the late afternoon sun. As they reached the curb, she stopped and looked both in front and behind her.

Tommy watched her from the edge of the curb. "Is everythin' all right?"

She carefully stepped onto the curb after him and took his arm once again. "Yes, of course. I was just making sure there were no horses, this time." And at the serious look on his face, she burst out laughing. "Mr. Ryan, you're far too serious. It was a joke, and usually it's in my nature to make quite a few of them."

Tommy laughed at this as they stopped in front of the towering orphanage building. "Ah, I see. Perhaps I should let ya know that I'm usually the practical joker."

"Is that so?" she remarked with a giggle. "Well then I suppose we'll have to get to know more of each other, then. Please, if there's anything I can do to repay you, anything you can think of, I'm usually here at the orphanage until five in the evening, Monday through Friday. I don't think I can thank you enough."

"It was no trouble, Miss Johnson."

"Please, call me Beth. Miss Johnson reminds me of my mother, God rest her soul, and Elisabeth is far too formal.

"Only if you stop calling me Mr. Ryan and start calling me Tommy."

"All right, Tommy," she agreed. "Thank you for everything, again."

"You're welcome, but I was just in the right place at the right time," he insisted, lifting his bowler hat off of his head in respect. He watched as she smiled a final time before disappearing into the double doors of the orphanage, and then continued on his way, towards the tenements.

* * *

"_And what exactly was she thinking?"_

Elisabeth winced as she knocked on the door to her father's study. She had arrived home from the orphanage twenty minutes ago, and after being fussed over by the housekeeper, Estella, it appeared that the news of her accident early that day had traveled fast. She had no time to change when Estella arrived upstairs, requesting that her father wished to speak with her before supper was served.

"_Come in, dear."_

She pushed open the heavy oak door and clasped her hands behind her back as she approached his desk. She nodded kindly to his associate, Edward Barnett, as he left the room behind her, giving father and daughter some privacy.

By the look on her father's face, Elisabeth had a feeling that she was in for a very stern reprimanding. "You wanted to see me, Papa?"

Samuel Johnson was a relatively youthful man in his early forties; a lawyer by profession but a father at heart. After his wife's death, he had raised Elisabeth from a toddler and spoiled her like a father only could. In turn, they had grown very close, and he provided her with every luxury that the upper middle class had to offer. But, like every father, there were some things he did not understand about his daughter; for one, Elisabeth's obsession with volunteering the majority of her time for the Red Cross and a local orphanage.

"Yes, I did," he replied coolly, leaning back in his leather chair. He sighed and ran his hands through his auburn hair, now beginning to streak slightly with grey.

Elisabeth sighed and sat down opposite him. She studied him carefully, knowing that he was more disappointed in her than angry. Many people had said over the years how much she resembled her father, and it was in times where she managed to get herself into some sort of trouble that she realized it the most. They had the same brown eyes, the same nose, even the same smile.

"Are you all right?"

She was taken aback by her father's question, not expecting him to start with that. "Yes, Papa I'm fine. Really, it was just an accident. I have a few bruises, but there's nothing to be concerned about."

"I'll send for Dr. Miller in the morning," Samuel insisted.

"No, there's no need for that, I'm fine. _Really_," Elisabeth pressed, folding and unfolding her hands in her lap.

He stood up and began to pace back and forth in front of the fireplace, his broad shoulders moving up and down with each step. "What were you thinking, watching a fight, a gang fight no less! Do you know what could have happened to you out there!"

She dropped her gaze into her lap and nodded. "I know, but I had only run outside to collect the mail and—"

"I don't like the idea of you walking to and from that place by yourself, especially in the evening. Do you know what could happen to you?" he repeated. "After your mother…Beth, don't you understand you're all I have left?"

Elisabeth rolled her eyes. "It's hard to forget when you remind me every day."

Samuel ignored her last comment and shook his head. "Edward will escort you to and from the orphanage from now on."

"Papa, that's ridiculous!"

"What's ridiculous is my little girl getting mugged or worse."

"I'm not a child," she shot back, raising her voice slightly.

"You're my child," he boomed angrily, "And if you don't like it, then you will remain at home."

Elisabeth bit her lip stubbornly and stood up from the chair. "Fine."

"All right, then that's settled. And no more wandering where it's not appropriate."

"I am capable of taking care of myself," she insisted, lifting her skirt slightly.

Samuel shook his head and sat back down in his chair. "You're eighteen years old, hardly old enough to know what taking care of yourself is." He pulled a stack of papers towards himself and reached for his reading glasses. "I'll see you shortly at dinner."

She nodded and opened the study door, resting a hand against her chest as she walked slowly down the hallway and up the staircase. Perhaps it wasn't the end of the world, to have an escort, yet she couldn't help but feel that another one of her freedoms had been taking away because she disappointed her father and had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. What was next, forbidding her to assist at the orphanage all together, or worse, talk of an arranged marriage?

She thought of all the children she had helped in the six months since she had joined the Red Cross; all the stories she had read and the smiles she was greeted with every day. She'd be foolish to lose the one thing that truly brought her happiness.

Elisabeth entered her bedroom and closed the door softly behind her, undressing as she walked along to the bathroom. She set her ripped hat and gloves on the chair in front of her vanity and began undoing the clasps of her lavender gown as she reached over and gripped the silver handle of the faucet. The tub began filling quickly, and as the steam rose, she shut the door and shed the rest of her clothing. In frustration, she flung her tattered dress to the side and ripped out the pins that held up her brown hair. Her hair fell in loose waves to the middle of her back and she frowned at her reflection in the mirror. Her usually rosy pallor was devoid of color tonight, and her eyes held no sparkle.

She stepped into the tub carefully and allowed the warm water to envelope her small body. Her body ached from her fall early in the day, and she shuddered at the thought of what could have happened if Tommy hadn't stepped in and pulled her to safety.

_Tommy. _She sunk deeper into the water, stopping herself only when the water reached the bridge of her nose. What she wouldn't give to be a man sometimes, to be free to come and go as she pleased. Society always glanced the other way whenever a man stepped out of his boundaries, but a woman was always sheltered, always protected. Being raised by her father, she had been devoid of a mother's love, yet her father had raised her as a lady and a lady she would remain. After tonight, she couldn't bear to see anymore disappointment in her father's eyes, and she would do whatever it took to please him. But she would not give up the one thing she loved—those children at the orphanage—for him.

A knock at the door startled her thoughts, and it slowly creaked open to reveal Estella. She wiggled her plump body into the door and smiled softly down at Elisabeth, resting a head on top of her grey hair.

"Dinner, my dear." She placed a towel on the sink for her, along with her silk robe.

Elisabeth shook her head sadly. "Tell my father I'm ill with a terrible headache and have gone to bed."

Estella didn't argue. She had long been accustomed to this routine with Elisabeth over the years, since Elisabeth had been a child. "I'll be up with a tray shortly."

"Just some tea, please," Elisabeth corrected her softly. "I'm not very hungry."

"As you wish. Be careful not to turn into a prune," she smiled warmly. "I'll leave the tea on your nightstand."

"Thank you." Once the door had been shut again, Elisabeth sunk deeper into the water, feeling her body relax once again. As she lathered her hair, she thought back to the events earlier in the day with remorse.

_What she wouldn't give to be a man; to be free._

* * *

R & R. 


	5. Tea for Two

A/N: Sorry this part took so long to get up. Thanks for all the reviews, they've been great. I really enjoy reading them:o)

* * *

_Late June, 1912_

Spring quickly turned into summer, and with it came the first sweltering heat wave of the season. Tommy had opened both of the windows in his small apartment as far as they would go, yet it brought him no comfort, and he spent the nights tossing and turning in the humidity, the sheets and quilt long kicked onto the floor.

It was on a Wednesday, during his lunch break, that he ran into a familiar face that he had never expected to see again. He had been hurrying back to the factory from the tenement, haphazardly lighting a cigarette and not paying attention to where he was going. He turned the corner mere yards from the factory and his shoulder roughly brushed against a fellow passerby.

Huskily, Tommy managed a gruff "Sorry" and continued on his way. If he was late, they would dock his paycheck, and Mrs. O'Dowd had already reminded him of this month's rent several times.

"_Tom Ryan!"_

Tommy spun and doubled back around, glancing around for the source of that voice. It was familiar, but he couldn't place it if he tried.

The man stepped forward, his red hair ablaze in the mid-day sun. "Over here," he called.

Tommy grinned and rushed forward to shake the man's outstretched hand. "William MacNab," he acknowledged. He was surprised to see the red-haired Scotsman again after their chance meeting on the Carpathia. It was a small world after all. "How the hell are'ya?"

MacNab's green eyes sparkled underneath his eyeglasses and he nodded, releasing Tommy's hand. "Not bad, not bad. I've been fortunate. Found myself a boarding house, a wife, and now a job."

Tommy chuckled at this and took another drag of his cigarette. "Already? Congratulations, boyo."

"We're not married yet," the shorter man replied. "But we will be, next month. Her name's Sarah, and actually, she's the daughter of the boarding house owners. She's quite a few years younger then I am, but I fell in love with her and haven't been able to keep my eyes off of her since."

"Ah, age is nothin' but a number anyway," Tommy agreed. "I'm happy for you."

"And yourself?"

"No girl, if that's what you're referrin' too." He briefly thought of Elisabeth, but quickly shook her image out of his mind. "Not yet, anyway. I managed to get a job at the factory down o'er there, the carriage works, and I live in a tenement down in Five Points. Taking each day as it comes."

"The carriage works? You don't say. I just came from there. I was hired today, actually, and I start Monday." MacNab grinned. "It looks like we'll be seeing a lot more of each other, then."

Tommy nodded with a smile. He crushed his cigarette out with his boot and stuck his hand out again for MacNab to shake. "It looks like it. I'm actually on me lunch break and have to head back."

"My apologies for keeping you," MacNab nodded as he shook Tommy's hand. "I'll see you on Monday. You'll have to come by one night after work and meet Sarah."

"Sounds like a plan. See you Monday, then," he grinned as they went their separate ways. It was comforting to know that he now had someone he knew working with him at the factory, even if they wouldn't be working in the same department. The majority of the other men had kept to themselves, and though some were friendly, Tommy usually kept his distance.

Upon reaching the factory, he was surprised to find a crowd of workers gathered outside the front doors, murmuring amongst themselves. He approached an unfamiliar man in the back of the crowd and motioned to the crowd.

"What's going on o'er there?" he questioned him, shoving his hands in his trouser pockets.

"Dunno," the other man replied. "I heard a riot broke out with a few of the men against the overseer, Mr. Quinn. The police just took a few of the men to jail."

Tommy had heard the rumors that had been spreading over the past few weeks against Mr. Quinn. Many of the men in other parts of the factory were unhappy with the working conditions and the lack of pay for their overtime hours, and there had been talk of an uprising. Just as he turned back to question the man again, Mr. Quinn appeared from the doors of the factory and motioned for quiet from the crowd.

"Quiet, quiet now men. It is unfortunate that such an uprising occurred today in the walls of our factory, and because of this, you will all be kept under close watch. We will not tolerate such disrespect at Nell's, and those of you who plan to think or act otherwise will be kindly asked to leave. You all will be dismissed for the rest of the day. That is all."

A collective groan was heard amongst the crowd, and Tommy sighed. Half a day's work meant half a day's less of wages for the week, and less money meant he would have to wait longer to send for his mother and sister; less money to rent a larger apartment.

The crowd of men had thinned out as he took his leave and crossed the street, heading in the direction of his tenement. The midday sun was sweltering, and as he lifted his bowler hat off the top of his head his curls fell against his forehead in a sweaty mop. He crossed the busy street and passed the various businesses that lined the sidewalk; the bread and meat shop; the bank. The orphanage loomed ahead of him, the cool, stone building providing him with some shade as he hurried along.

He had just passed the fenced in garden area of the orphanage when he heard his name being called.

"_Tommy!"_

He turned and nearly came face to face with the iron gate of the orphanage's garden. He nearly turned back around to leave when he spotted the source of the voice in the corner of the vegetable patch, cradling a little girl against her hip. _Beth._ She smiled and waved, her face barely visible under the shadow of her white brimmed hat. She came closer to the gate with the little girl, who by now had turned her face away from Tommy in shyness.

"Hello," he greeted her, taking off his hat in respect. "I was wonderin' who's voice I heard."

She smiled and handed her white hat to the little girl to play with. "Yes, I thought that was you, but I didn't think you would hear me with all the commotion going on across the street at the factory." Beth smoothed the child's golden curls out of her face and nodded. "This is Charlotte."

Tommy grinned at Charlotte, who at first smiled politely, but then buried her face against Beth's shoulder.

"She's very shy at first, but she's an angel otherwise. She just turned four last month." Beth set Charlotte down on the ground and linked the child's tiny hand in her own. "Are you in a hurry?"

He shook his head, setting his hat back on top his mess of dark curls. "Not any'more. The overseer sent us all home t'day. A riot broke out at the factory when I was on me lunch break."

"Really?" Beth's eyes widened at this. "Would you like to join me for tea? I know you must have just eaten, but I could always use the company," she offered. "Seeing as how we keep crossing the other's path."

"Sure," Tommy replied eagerly. It was a good opportunity to get to know the real Elisabeth, and she had been on his mind for quite some time, even on his busiest days. Since that day over two months ago in the hospital when he had first laid eyes on her, she had captivated him, though in which way he hadn't been sure. She had been the first true American girl he had encountered, and a classic beauty at that. "Thank ya for offerin', although are ya sure it's all righ't?"

"As soon as I get Charlotte settled in for her nap, I'll meet you right outside. And yes, it's fine." She smiled and disappeared with the little girl inside the orphanage, and reappeared several moments later, adjusting her white hat atop her dark blonde waves.

He began to escort her down the sidewalk, heading away from the orphanage. They walked together silently at first, each taking in the scenery of a beautiful June afternoon, but it was Elisabeth who, again, broke the ice.

"I hope I wasn't being too bold by asking you to come along with me," she said with a smile, smoothing the pale yellow material of her dress nervously. "I usually take most of my teas at the orphanage, but it was too beautiful of a day to pass up, and I hate walking these streets alone."

"Not bold a' t'all. I'd rather ya walk with me than by yerself," Tommy replied with a nod. "It's not safe in these parts, especially after dark."

"Yes, tell me about it. My father received word of what happened that day and how I was nearly trampled by that horse and sent his apprentice to escort me home each night ever since."

"Ah, he's just lookin' after ya. It's a father's duty to his daughter."

She forced a smile again and looked down at her hands. "Perhaps, as he's been the only one to raise me my entire life. Usually he trusts me; now I can't be sure anymore. He frowns upon my work at the orphanage and I know he wishes me to settle down and marry but I'm not willing to, not yet, anyway." She glanced up at Tommy and blushed. "Oh look at me, I'm already rambling."

He laughed as they stopped at a small restaurant with an outdoor terrace. The waiter quickly sat them at a small table tucked away in the back corner, and after quickly jotting down Beth's order for a tea and egg sandwich, he turned to Tommy, who shook his head.

"Nothin for me, thank ya kindly."

Beth handed the menu to Tommy with a smile. "Please, it's on me. Have something to drink, at least. It's the least I can do to repay you for saving my life."

He nodded and followed Beth's suit and ordered a tea. "Thank y'ou."

She smiled and a blush once again crept into her cheeks. "Our paths must have crossed three times already and I know nothing about you."

He grinned and shook his head. "Well what would you like to know?"

She thanked the waiter as he brought the two steaming teas to the table. "What would you like to know about me?"

"I don't know," he laughed as he dipped the lemon slice into the tea. "How long have ya lived in New York?"

"Now there's a question to start with." She removed the tea bag with perfect mannerisms and set it next to her spoon. "Since I was three years old. I was born in Paris. My mother was French, and my father was born in Philadelphia."

"Philadelphia?" he questioned.

"It's a city in a state called Pennsylvania here in America, a few hours south of New York." She sipped her tea slowly and continued. "My father and mother met when my father was doing his law internship abroad at the Sorbonne, and they married soon after. I was born, and they talked of moving back here, to New York, so my father could set up his law firm." She narrowed her eyes and began focusing on the intricate pattern on the teacup. "My mother fell ill shortly after, and she died when I was three. My father couldn't bear to live in France any longer without her, and we moved to New York. He established himself quite well here, but always made time for me. Most girls my age at that time would have nannies, but he and I had each other."

Tommy looked at Beth from across the table. "I'm sorry to hear o' yer loss. I too, lost me Dad, when I was thirteen. It was just my Ma, sister, and I after, running the potato farm, hardly makin' anything year after year. And then I promised myself that when I turned twenty, I'd save up enough money to make it to America, and here I am. Had a couple o' bumps along the way."

"Is Ireland a beautiful country?" she questioned him.

"Very. Nothing compares to'it for me, and I don't think anythin' ever will." He sipped at his tea as the waiter brought Beth's egg sandwich to the table. "It was hard for me to leave it behind, as well as my Ma and sister Molly, and not ever know if I'll see it again."

Beth took a tiny bite of her sandwich and nodded. "I don't remember much of France, and I haven't been back since my mother died. But I've been to London, and Europe is beautiful. I'd love to travel there again someday."

"How long have you worked with the children at the orphanage?"

She set her sandwich down and stared off into space for a moment. "For about a year, I suppose. I finished my last year of schooling and the Red Cross had posted a notice in the newspaper for volunteers, and I was interested, looking for something to occupy my time. The sent me to the orphanage, and now I mostly spend my day watching over the younger children and occasionally helping place the children for adoptions, which are few and far between. I'm looking to apply for the teaching position at the school we have there, but I'm torn. I love what I do now, and my father wants to see me settle down and marry. He supports what I do, but doesn't fully approve of me spending all this time outside the home unchaperoned, especially now after what happened last month."

"Ah, that's just a father being protective of his only daughter," he smiled, sipping at his tea again. "I'm sure he means well."

"Sometimes I'm not so sure." She set the rest of her sandwich in the plate and began fiddling with the teabag next to the teacup. "I want to make a difference, even if it's just helping these children find a home; a set of loving parents. Perhaps it's because I never knew my mother, I don't know."

"It seems as if you already are making that difference."

She blushed again and set her empty teacup next to her plate. "Thank you." She dabbed at her mouth gingerly with the napkin. "It's getting late. Perhaps we should head back."

He nodded and pulled out fifty cents; more than enough to cover the cost of the meal. Beth shook her head immediately in protest.

"I have a tab here. You needn't worry about the cost."

Tommy shook his head and placed the money on the table. "I'll take care o' it. It's on me."

She smiled and pulled on her white gloves once again as they exited the small café and began to stroll back towards the orphanage. "You've done too much already."

He placed his bowler hat on top of his dark curls and shook his head. "I was only in the right place at the right time."

"Well," she insisted, "anyway, it seems as if we keep running into each other."

"I agree," he smiled. "We could arrange somethin' next time?"

"And what do you suggest, Mr. Ryan?" Beth questioned lightly with a hint of a mischievous smile.

"Saturday afternoon, you could meet me in Central Park."

Beth laughed at his proposition and shook her head. "I'd love to meet you there, but have you any idea how large Central Park is. We'd spend hours looking for each other, and by then it would be dark."

He grinned and they continued walking, crossing the busy intersection near the factory. "Do you know of a place where we could meet in the park?"

She thought for a moment and then nodded. "Cleopatra's Needle on Greywacke Knoll. It's a sculpture right across from the Metropolitan Museum of Art. You can't miss it."

"I don't know that area very well," Tommy reconsidered with a slight frown.

"That's part of the excitement," Beth smiled. "If you find it, I'll be there waiting."


End file.
